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Demian knew that he had to be extra careful when sleeping next to Kromer for the night. Yet even with the knowledge of the possibilities of how this sleep would go, he welcomed her into his arms anyway.
Ever since Sinclair had strayed from their path, Kromer’s morale had significantly lowered, and it was noticeable in her actions, her attitude and her personality. At first, it was sincere denial, and huffs that her dear Emil would eventually come back full of apologies. But as time passed and the news came that he had corroded, that the City had deemed him a hazard, she slowly mellowed out for the worse.
Demian knew he couldn’t bear to watch Kromer return to her shell this way, but surprisingly, did not have an understanding of how to comfort one who is grieving. He hadn’t an idea of what it was like, having to experience a great loss to the point where emotions become a blur. To him, everything was predetermined in some way. To him, it was just fate.
That was what he told himself, at the very least, as he looked at the mirror of the bathroom and realized that he had been neglecting his own health for so long that the face that stared back no longer felt like his own. He grew sideburns and some stubble—That wasn’t a problem. In fact, he fancied the growth of facial hair. Though staring more and more, the eyebags don’t fit the rest of the look. Neither did the grim look in those dark eyes, the unkempt hair, the paleness that felt horribly, horribly off—
Demian looks in horror, and realizes that he himself has been grieving this whole damned time. Sinclair— His Sinclair—was out there, rampaging, slamming against bodies with an axe tied to his arms, lost and alone. Out there, losing himself, risking death. Hatched too early, hunting too far, it’s all wrong, it’s all wrong—
Something heavy drops outside of the bathroom. A loud thud, and the distant sounds of coughing. Demian turns his head slowly, towards the door. Then, as though reality had come back to him in one sharp stab, his body moves with haste. Turning the doorknob, he ran towards the one person who was with him.
Kromer had fallen down, a few steps away from her seat. Her body couldn’t carry her for once. She gasps and wheezes for air, and the cold, metal palm rests on the wooden floor, trying to help lift herself up but proving itself futile. Yet she still insists that she’s okay, because of course she would try not to let it get the best of her.
“I’m okay…! It’s fine, I’m fine—”
“Don’t lie to yourself.” He cuts her off, grabs the other arm, and puts it around his shoulder, trying to help her stand back up. Her body still refuses to cooperate, and even if he could lift her with his rings, it would be a waste of energy to bother. But that wouldn’t do either of them any favors either.
“Why did you stand up?” Demian asks her. She was sitting just minutes ago, waiting for him to wash his face. “I specifically instructed you not to move, Dear Kromer.”
Kromer scoffs. “Well, you were taking a while! I wanted to see what the hell was going on in there!”
“That is not necessary.”
“‘Not necessary.’ my ass. You already look like shit, you—” She stops in the middle of her sentence, eyes widening all of a sudden. Her hands start to shake, and something burns in her chest.
Demian gives a smug little smile, but that quickly fades upon seeing Kromer cover her mouth. Then the coughing fit came, and her body fell again despite the support he gave. She tries to keep it in her mouth, the green liquid that had been healing and poisoning her ever so slowly. But it spills through her hand, staining her clothes, staining Demian’s scarf, and she lets go, profusely vomiting nothing, nothing but neon green, onto the floor. Embarrassed but far too sick to stop herself, Kromer could only choke on fluid and spit.
“Max—” She sputters, but it still doesn’t stop. And so Demian, for once, not knowing what to do, gently hugged and patted her back, so that it could empty. So that it would stop rotting her, from the inside out. What else he could do but watch?
“Max…” She repeats, and crimson mixes alongside the green, mixing iron with nanomachines, and whatnot. The blood is disgusting and the reminder of her humanity strikes. She hated it. She hated her humanity. “Fuck…it hurts…”
There wasn’t much Demian could do in the moment except hold Kromer close, and reassure her that this wasn’t an inconvenience, that this could all be cleaned up. But it wouldn’t change much: Her legs were still malfunctioning, there were still wires on her back, and although he held her so dearly, Sinclair was still missing from their lives, and it made everything worse.
“You’re alright.” Demian manages to muster some comfort. “Let it hurt. I’ll bear the pain with you.”
She could only nod, still hacking away, but her head pressed against Demian’s chest, her pride still getting in the way of her thanking.
Although the fox had lept away in sorrow, he knew that the last thing he should do was leave his rose behind. He’ll look after Kromer, as her guide and dear friend, no matter what remains of them both.